


Hints and Half Measures

by plentyofmalk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship has been 10 years of light touches, she realizes. Hints of something, always danced around but never addressed. Half measures. It was lightly tugging on a strand of hair and getting an idea of what it might feel like to have those fingers running along her scalp instead. Except now she <i>knows</i> what that feels like and she can’t handle light touches while pretending to be oblivious about the satisfaction that comes with more. It’s not enough, and it might never be again. She has dignity but she also has nerves and they’re all firing away in anticipation now. And it’s all. His. Fault.</p>
<p>Post 3x18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hints and Half Measures

Something’s wrong.

Well, no, a lot of things are wrong. She could fill an issue of _Popular Science_ with a summary of all the things that were currently wrong. The base was still a mess in the wake of Daisy’s destruction, for one. Miscellaneous papers and a more than one fallen test tube or beaker still lay sprinkled throughout the lab, and she never coped well with disorder in the workspace. And with Hive currently two steps ahead of their every move and racking up an army of Inhumans along the way, she felt a bit like they were chasing after a heat wave on the blacktop. The second they thought they’ve caught up, it was gone again, another ten feet ahead.

It was exhausting. But it wasn’t what was wrong.

No, what was wrong was the sensation she had, staring down at the microscope in front of her. She felt– she was… _distracted_. And Jemma Simmons was never, ever distracted at work.

Even more frustrating was that the cause of her distraction had nothing to do with the serious state of affairs they were currently in, and everything to due with the way Fitz was staring at the top of her head with that _ridiculous_ smirk on his face. She assumed. Not that she was looking back at him at any point, or trying to repress her own grin just thinking about all the things they had been, could be, or would be doing together later. Nope, that was not it at all. Because Jemma Simmons excelled at keeping her priorities in order.

With a sigh that hopefully conveyed more annoyance than she could actually muster, she turned to find him exactly as he was two minutes ago, nudging an empty petri dish back and forth with one finger, eyes unabashedly focused on her. If she felt a pang in her stomach, well, it was just hunger (of which manner, she would never, ever tell).

“Any results yet on our Lucio sample?” Then, after a beat, “Fitz.”

That seemed to shift him out of his daze. “Hmm? Oh, um, nothing yet. And simulations are still being run on the blood sample from Creel. I just checked.” He nods like he’s looked at anything other than her in recent memory. He's been dragging his feet all day in the lab, delivering on everything she asked of him, but distracted from his usual diligence. Which she knows doesn’t matter at the moment, as the results wouldn’t be ready yet anyways. In fact, they’re not expected to return anything worthwhile for the rest of the night, but she has to break the silence somehow.

What he says next confuses her at first. “It’s just that– you’ve got a little…” Removing his hand from the petri dish, he gestures to her face, his finger making slight vertical motions. She self consciously brings a hand to her cheek in concern before she realizes what he’d been trying to indicate. So determined to focus on the task at hand, she’s failed to notice the lock of hair that is actually, now that she thinks about it, kind of hanging right in the middle of her field of vision.

“Oh! Right, thank you.” She gave him a small smile, reaching back toward the elastic in her hair, which seemed to set him in motion. With a hand up to stop her from continuing, he makes his way around the work station.

“Allow me, Dr. Simmons.”

He shouldn’t have the stride that he does walking such a short distance, but he does. It also shouldn’t make her heart speed up to watch him come closer, but, well, it does. But she’ll be damned if she’d going to let him know it, at least not right away. A girl should have some semblance of dignity in the workplace, after all.

But then he reaches for her ponytail and slowly pulls out the elastic and she failed to consider that it would be a very different sensation from any other time he’s assisted her like this.

First of all, did he always tug on the band this excruciatingly slow? No, right? She can’t remember a time at the academy or working late in the lab when he did this and she could feel every second of it. It’s gentle, but still pulls lightly at her hairline, tickling just behind her ears. Pieces land softly on her bare neck as it’s finally removed. Just when she thinks the worst is over, he wraps the last inch or so of a lock around one very talented finger and pulls it taut ever so gently but _oh my god_ she _shivers_ , a full body shiver and _that is it_.

Their relationship has been 10 years of light touches, she realizes. Hints of something, always danced around but never addressed. Half measures. It was lightly tugging on a strand of hair and getting an idea of what it might feel like to have those fingers running along her scalp instead. Except now she _knows_ what that feels like and she can’t handle light touches while pretending to be oblivious about the satisfaction that comes with more. It’s not enough, and it might never be again. She has dignity but she also has nerves and they’re all firing away in anticipation now. And it’s all. His. Fault.

She turns to him, breathing heavy, and boy does she want to… _something_ that stupid (sexy, handsome, still shy) smirk off of his face, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. He is a genius, after all. And he’s known since they met that Jemma can’t take much of any kind of teasing before she loses it. It used to come out in the form of snarky rebuttals to other classmates dismissing her because of her age, or the fact that she was a girl. Now, for Fitz, it comes out when he’s spent too much time touching her in one place and not in another.

It’s his new favorite hobby.

“You’re distracting me, Dr. Fitz.” She feels more than a little pride at the way his eyes close when she addresses him like that. It turns out that it’s _his_ thing, at least when it’s coming from her. 

It’s her new favorite hobby.

Still, she cautions him. He ought to know at this point that she is a very live wire when she gets worked up, and the lab is much too public for any kind of display between two people who are still pretending that their relationship is merely friendly and professional to the general public. At this point, Mack is still the only one who knows of their relationship, after talking with Jemma in Bucharest.

The large, ill-placed love bite on Fitz’s neck, only half concealed by his shirt collar when they finally boarded the quinjet 45 minutes later, was just an indicator after-the-fact.

“I don’t see what I’m doing, other than offering my assistance to a colleague in distress. It’s for your safety, after all.” He shoots back.

“Oh good,” She says, snatching the elastic from where it dangles on one finger, swiftly gathering her hair back into a loose knot at the top of her head. “Now that that’s done, I think I saw Agent Doug pass by earlier with a shoe untied. Can’t imagine you could let that stand, so you should probably go help him. For his safety, as you put it.”

She was already pleased with herself, but she smiles a little bit wider at the grimace he makes, and then laughs when he says, “Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Nope, nope, you can’t. We’re past the point of no return, Fitz, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

It’s really not fair to have eyes so expressive, she thinks. Mirth, annoyance, and then tenderness pass through them in seconds. His words are still teasing, though.

“Don’t I know it. Been stuck watching you look at the same sample of bird guts for an hour.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes, “Stop referring to my tissue samples as ‘bird guts’.”

“Fine. Avian innards.” He over-pronounces.

“Ooh, yes!” She grabs onto the collar of his shirt before realizing that’s a little _too close_ to remain inconspicuous, even if they are one of the few people on the base still awake at this hour. So she coughs instead, resting one palm on the work surface behind her, the other clutching dramatically at her shirt. “Talk anatomy to me, Dr. Fitz. Do you mean the liver? Gizzard?” She gasps. “The _proventriculus_?”

“You’re gross, Simmons.”

“Maybe the cloa-”

Suddenly the distance between them is non-existent. He’s effectively trapped her hand between them, his own going instinctively for her waist, pulling her to him even as the rest of his body presses her back into the cool metal behind her. His mouth meets hers and she suddenly forgets to care where they are at the moment because she hasn’t gotten to kiss him in hours and he really has been insufferable about it.

She turns the hand stuck in between them to grab at his shirt once more, gently fiddling a middle button without undoing it entirely, only hinting at more. When his tongue darts out to steal a taste of her lower lip, she lets out a contented sigh that brings them back to their senses for the moment. 

Running a hand down her shirt, Jemma straightens and tries to compose herself as well as she can. “You know, our simulation won’t be done until morning.”

“Uh huh,” He nods a little too vigorously, probably not listening to a word she just said, which is ironic since he can’t stop looking at her lips.

“And I’m not seeing anything new from my tissue samples. Perhaps we should review notes? Somewhere else?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. Notes, mmhmm.” She rolls her eyes at him one more time before walking as casually as possible to her room (it sustained less damage than his own, and although his is still in perfectly acceptable condition, Fitz can be very convincing in questioning structural integrity when the alternative is spending more time in hers). She knows he’ll wait a few seconds before following her, and she leaves the door open in invitation. Turning when she hears it shut with a click, she notices again how he strides across the room.

Taking in the spot on his neck that she bruised from the force of her affections only days ago, she has the very strong urge to replicate it, with a bit more forethought as to its placement. Reaching again for the buttons of his shirt, she makes good on her half measure from earlier and begins to undo them swiftly. He moans when she runs her nails (no longer red) down the center of his chest, hard enough to leave a light trail behind it but light enough that the beginning already starts to fade. She feels a surge of happiness well up from her abdomen, knowing that _finally_ , she is happy, and _finally_ , they can be happy together.

He twists them so that he is the one collapsing backwards to seat himself on the bed, pulling her down with him. He grabs at her hips with both hands, and she steadies herself on his shoulders to gain her balance before continuing. She wiggles a little to settle herself in and feels the evidence of his enjoyment hitting a very sensitive part of her, and with a sigh, she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him as close as possible.

One of his hands snakes up her spine, carefully drawing over each vertebrae up to the base of her skull, mystically undoing the back of her bra beneath her shirt along the way. Still not finished, he finally reaches for the elastic behind her head once again. Tugging with more urgency, he quickly removes it and throws it aside to the floor. In further contrast to earlier, this time his fingers dive directly into her hair, his thumb tracing the curve behind her ear while using the other digits to grip and tilt her head back just enough to gain better access to her neck. This, she somehow manages to think, is what they can be now. No hints at something bigger without ever breaching unknown ground– small tugs that give them ideas they’re too afraid to let flourish. They can take full measures that leave them both (recently, currently, and forever, she hopes) satisfied and in each other’s arms. It’s a scientific study of hormones she’s happy to make over and over again.

Later, still in his arms, she’s content to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heart rate slowly decrease. Absentmindedly, Fitz plays with the ends of her curls once more. And when an involuntary row of gooseflesh appears on her arm as the result of his tender ministrations, she thinks that maybe half measures can still be enjoyed. 

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, I had to name drop the Fitzsimmons ship captain Doug, brought to life by agentcalliope's hilarious [A Doug's Life](http://archiveofourown.org/series/440878).
> 
> I'm plentyofmalk on tumblr if anyone wants to be my friend!


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